


The Witcherlorian

by adhdbuck



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Misuse of Witcher lore, Selective Mute Ciri, Tags as I go, The Mandalorian Au, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, bad action scenes beware, because of the ~trauma~, everythings made up, hmmm still don't have any tags for this, i legit don't know what to tag this, i'll think of something later, like six or sevenish, misuse of Star Wars lore, oh!, this is gonna be something else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28231971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adhdbuck/pseuds/adhdbuck
Summary: Like all Witchers of his clan that came before him, Geralt from the planet of Rivia swore to never remove his helmet. If he did, he was to never put it back on.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my creation, inspired by watching the Mandalorian season 2 and reading geralt/jaskier fics at the same time. I hope you guys stick around because this first chapter might not be very exciting but I promise it gets better! i think...
> 
> I basically took the witcher and the Mandalorian, put them in a bag and mixed them together, so everything is jumbled up and if ur a big fan of either I am so sorry. I've watched all the star wars movies and the Mandalorian and I've played like five hours of the witcher 3 and watched the show but uhhhhhhhh i claim no knowledge

Like all Witchers of his clan that came before him, Geralt from the planet of Rivia swore never to remove his helmet. If he did, he was never to put it back on.

“This is the way.”

His master, an older man when he had met him as a child, and even an older man now, had trained him in the ways of the Witcher. Along with all of his brothers and sisters, most of whom did not make it past the first of the Witchers trials,

“This is the way.” Geralt reminds himself.

The cruelness was a necessity, is what Vessimir had told him. Witchers must be strong, they must be warriors. If they are to defeat any enemy in their path, what good are they if they cannot survive?

It doesn’t stop the sounds of screaming children, it doesn’t stop the taste of poison in his mouth,

Geralt breathes, “This is the way.”

“A necessary evil,” Vessimir had told him the day they buried ten of his siblings, “if these children could not survive the Trial of the Grasses, they would not survive this cruel galaxy.”

Geralt just looked on, with the taste of iron and dioxis still stuck in his throat.

Except he was no longer Geralt, he was just the Witcher. Or Witcher as his contracts had come to call him. He did not care, Witchers had no use for names, no use for faces, the only thing he was good for was swinging the swords on his back and collecting his bounty.

Vessimir was one of the few older Witchers he had ever learned the name of, only because he was the one who trained the children. Wide-eyed and terrified, dropped onto the snow-filled forest planet of Kaer Morhen by people they once called family. Even if he never saw his face, the young Witcher had taken comfort in the man’s name.

_At least there was someone under there,_ he had thought.

But those days were long since passed, the Children of the Wolf hardly existed anymore. The last he had heard, his brothers were at the outer reaches of the galaxy. Lambert was never one for the politics and Eskel just wanted to live a simple life. As simple as bounty hunting could be.

Vessimir was the only one he kept in contact with, since he was the only one of them trained in the armorer's ways. A relationship out of simple necessity, nothing more.

At least that was what Geralt had liked to tell himself.

Even though the man was responsible for a number of the punishments he had received as a fledgling, Vessimir was always a father figure to him. Though his armor had begun to rust he stood for everything that Geralt had wished to be as a Witcher. It was the only path he had to look to when his mother…

_Forget her._

Geralt breathes out.

He checked the fuel tank on Roach and grunted. The last contract had not gone as smoothly as he hoped, and he was forced to make a quick getaway. It wasn’t his fault, just one little mistranslation and everything went to shit.

A mistranslation in the sense that the translator wasn’t supposed to tell the Iktotchi _everything_ he whispered under his breath.

Geralt would have had to stop sooner or later, so he found a nearby planet and set course.

As soon as he got in reaching distance of the atmosphere he was pinged. Geralt groaned, the last thing he wanted right now was trouble. But where there was trouble, there was pay.

“This is the way.” He muttered under his breath and answered the call.

“Witcher, it would be in your best interest to meet me at the location I have sent you.” The voice was distorted, even more so than usual, _someone doesn’t want to be discovered._

“And if I say no?” It was always nice to have options.

“Then you won’t get off of this dustbowl alive.” The line went dead and Geralt rolled his eyes, no one was there to catch him. Not that they would see it under his helmet anyways.

He barely had enough fuel to land, and the engineers watching him looked to be placing bets as to whether or not it would land in one piece. Which they certainly were because when Geralt walked out of Roach, he saw the two exchanging coin.

“Fuel and maintenance.” They looked up at him. Geralt had always felt a sense of pride when people balked at his armor. His beskar set was not complete, but the plate on his chest was enough to catch a second glance.

“R-right away, sir – Witcher – sir.” Geralt just rolled his eyes again and left for the destination that had been sent to him.

The secrecy of it all had him wary of the person on the other end, but at the end of the day coin was coin. The location he had been sent to was nothing much, a small home situated between the various architecture of the small planet.

Geralt knocked on the door, expecting the worse.

Which came in the form of a gun pointed straight at his head,

“State your business.” Geralt stepped inside, if things were going to get messy, he would rather it not be in the middle of town.

“Stand down soldier, I asked him to come.” The soldier lowered his weapon slightly, but it was still aimed at Geralt. He rolled his eyes again, these types were always itching to get their next kill, something they could all bond over as they destroyed democracy.

Not the Geralt cared for politics.

“Come Witcher, sit, we have much to discuss.” The man sat, or rather lounged, on a sofa in the middle of the room, surrounded by five more guards. A rather plain room, nothing except cargo and paperwork. Geralt knew what he had stepped into, he wasn’t oblivious. The soldier at the door had given it away,

Geralt stayed standing, “What does the Nilfgaard want with a Witcher?”

The man smiled, “Something of ours was taken, we’d like it back.”

“So get it yourself.” Geralt wasn’t fond of getting in the middle of a war, if he had anything to say about it.

“Soldier, show our Witcher what his payment will be.”

The soldier faltered, clearly not wanting to show Geralt their hand, “But…Stregobor, sir…”

“Do as I say, boy.” Stregobor’s hand moved in a similar fashion that Geralt had only read about in old texts.

The ones that the older Witchers basically beat into them, _“Remember who your enemies are.”_

“Yes sir.” The guard left and returned with a crate and placed it on the table between Stregobor and Geralt.

“I see you haven’t finished your set,” Stregobor waved towards him, “what do you say to this as payment?” He opened the lid, and inside was the most beskar Geralt had ever seen in one room. He was glad for the helmet because the look of shock would have been quite unbecoming.

“Where did you get this?” Geralt reached out to pick one up but Stregobor closed it just as fast.

“Ah, we all have our secrets Witcher. Would this suffice?” The man’s face was twisted in a smirk, as if he held the world in his hands and Geralt was nothing more than a puppet.

Perhaps, he was…

_This is the way_.

“What do you want me to do?” 

Stregobor smiled and explained the plan to him; go to the planet of Blaviken, infiltrate the pirate’s base, kill them, secure the asset, return it to him. He never explained what the asset was, just that “You’ll know when you see it.”

Geralt wished the man didn’t have to be so dramatic, but he agreed, and they shook on it. The contract was sealed, and Geralt would not break it, _this is the way._

There wasn’t much on Blaviken, just a small village where people spat as he walked by, _charming_.

He was used to it by now, some people saw Witchers as things of legend, others saw them as a blight. There was always a greater chance that he would run into those who believed the latter, again not that he cared.

Getting information out of anyone was proving to be an uphill battle that Geralt did not have time for, and his methods had made his presence more obvious in the small village.

Which is why when a gun was pressed to the back of his neck, he was only half surprised,

“Move an inch, and I’ll blast your head off.” The woman spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to disturb the village any more than he had.

She pushed him into an alley, Geralt was not having a good day, “Turn around, Witcher.”

When he did, he was met with the woman and four other men, “I have somewhere to be.”

The woman grinned, “Yeah? Who are you working for?”

“That’s confidential.”

She pressed the gun to his forehead, “Tell me.” Geralt sighed, and quickly grabbed her wrist, ducking to the side as she instinctively shot and twisted her arm behind her back, bringing his own gun to her unguarded temple.

The men she was with all went for their guns, Geralt would rather not have to fight before he had to go and fight again, but he was trained for worse.

The woman just laughed, “Put your guns down boys. Let me buy you a round Witcher.”

“I don’t drink.” She just laughed again and Geralt twisted her arm farther up her back.

She groaned in pain but continued on, “My name is Renfri, you and I have a lot to discuss.” Geralt hummed and thought for a moment before releasing her.

He eyed her as she walked back to her group, and beckoned Geralt to follow them. Seeing as it was that or fight, he went with the former.

Renfri led him to a decrepit home on the outskirts of the village, the other four stood behind him, waiting for Geralt to make a wrong move. His hands it’s for his swords, but he knew it would be best to wait until he had heard what the woman had to say.

When they made their way inside Geralt calculated all the ways he could possibly escape, all of which led to spilling blood. Renfri looked at him like she knew exactly what he was doing, and she probably did,

“Let’s start from the beginning Witcher. I know who your boss is.”

“Then why’d you bother asking?”

Renfri smiles, “Just to see if you were going to tell the truth.”

Geralt hums, he honestly couldn’t give a shit who anyone’s enemies were, he just wanted to get paid.

“Anyways, Stregobor and I had a bad deal a few years back,” She sneers, “since I haven’t gotten my pay, he won’t be getting his.”

“You’re just going to sell the asset to the next highest bidder.” _Politics_.

“You catch on fast Witcher…or do you have something else you prefer?” Everyone was always trying to get him to tell them his name, to remove his helmet. It was something he had grown used to over the years, but it was never any less annoying,

“Witcher is fine.”

“Well then, _Witcher,_ whatever Stregobor is paying you I assure you my client can double it.” If it was any other day Geralt might have considered it, but Stregobor had beskar, and he highly doubted anyone could get their hands on that much.

The conversation was over at this point, “Sorry, but he and I made a deal.”

Renfri sighs and leans back in her chair, “I was afraid of that.”

Suddenly the men that had been idly standing by raised their weapons, Geralt had just enough time to raise his hand to grab one of his swords.

“Here’s the deal Witcher,” she got up from the table and looked him in the visor, “me and my men are strong, but that base filled to the brim with pirates. I don’t even think you could deal with all of them on your own.”

Geralt just stared ahead.

“You help us, we let you go back to Stregobor with your tail in between your legs.”

“How about I kill you and get the asset myself.”

Renfri walked over to a desk and pulled out a file, “Look at these and see if you wanna try that.”

She handed it to him, it was filled with information on the pirate’s based. Geralt was almost impressed with the recon, almost.

There were photographs of the base, she wasn’t lying, getting in there would take an army. He was trained for this, Witchers didn’t need anyone.

Geralt sighed,

“What’s the plan?”


	2. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy my poor action scenes ::)

The plan was…decent.

Renfri and her crew had obviously spent a lot of time coming up with it, and Geralt made sure to give them props for all the recon they did silently.

It was simple, the pirate’s base was basically on the other side of the planet, so they’ll take Geralt’s ship. (He realizes that’s probably why they sought him out in the first place).

He probably would have done the same thing if he was in their position.

Once they get to the base, they’ll land Roach far enough away from the base that they can’t see them approach. Wait till nightfall, ambush the guards, sneak in, grab the asset, get out.

_Easy enough._

Geralt and Renfri both knew that it wasn’t going to end so smoothly. One of them would be walking out of there with the asset. The other was either going to be dead or dying. It just depended on who was quicker.

“This is a piece of junk.” It was one of Renfri’s men, Geralt hadn’t bothered to learn their names, and they hadn’t bothered to give them. It was an amicable relationship.

Geralt just grunted, “It flies.”

Roach had seen better days, most of the armor had been replaced over the years, and some of it was already starting to rust. It wasn’t the best ship in the galaxy, but _it flies._

Geralt made his way to the cockpit while the others milled about, Except for Renfri.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“If you want to make it off this planet alive.”

Geralt sighed internally, _why does everyone say that._

The ride to the other side was quick and uneventful, save for the few times he had to keep warning everyone; _don’t touch that, don’t look in there, no I won’t take my helmet off._

Geralt would kill them all now, but he didn’t want to have to deal with the bodies, so he just kept to himself.

When they landed (John? Ja’an? Ja’am?) led them to where he had taken the latest recon photos. On top of the hill looking into the valley, they saw the building, and old decrepit thing made of wood and stone, practically ready to collapse. Nothing much had changed from the photos; three guards stood watch outside, two of them looked ready to sleep, and the suns had barely begun to set.

“Well, boys,” Renfri clapped a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, and it took all of his strength not to push it off, “time to wait.”

Geralt was used to waiting. It was a part of his training. Learn to stand still, clear your mind, ignore the sounds of your sibling’s screams, focus on your breath, ignore the dioxis creeping into the room, silence all thoughts, ignore the blood on your hands,

_This is the way._

“Time to go, Witcher.” Another one of Renfri’s men (Ron? Ran? Ronnie?) kicked him in the side, and he was lucky that Geralt was coming out of a mediative state because one easy swing and his blood would be all over the sand.

They had already dispatched the three guards by the time he caught up, their fingers still twitching and blood still draining. Geralt was glad he didn’t have to waste any energy dealing with them. He hoped he wouldn’t have to fight anyone.

“ _Witcher’s don’t have hope.”_

“This is the way.” Geralt whispered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He pushed forward into the keep.

It was dark and quiet, the pirates were probably cocky enough to think three guards were enough to handle anyone who tried to come through.

_Amateurs_.

Though the building was small, it was filled with a mess of rooms and corridors. If Geralt had come by himself, it would have taken a few hours to get through.

The look on Renfri’s face told him she was coming to the same conclusion, “Let’s split up.”

Geralt would usually vote against such a move, but if it made it easier to get the asset, so be it.

Somehow Renfri decided not to team up with Geralt, and he was stuck with…goon #3. Perhaps the slimiest of all four of her men, Geralt wondered how a woman like Renfri could stand him.

“…and then the bitch took all of my money! Can you believe that mate?” He was missing five teeth, Geralt could only imagine how many barfights it took to accomplish such a feat.

Geralt grunted as he opened the fifth door, waiting for another let down in the form of random cargo boxes.

_“You’ll know it when you see it.”_

What a load of –

“Fuck.”

There curled in the corner of a room was a child, a human girl with hair almost as white as the snow back on Kaer Morhen. She looked at Geralt and even though his helmet was fastened securely, he could feel her eyes burning into his.

_“You’ll know it when you see it.”_

This…child? This is the “it?”

Geralt felt his feet come under him. He had done some unscrupulous things in his tenure as a Witcher. But giving a child to the Nilfgaard,

Was this the way?

Goon #3 seemed to have no problem with the current situation, “C’mon missy, you’re gonna make us a lot of money.”

Geralt didn’t even have time to warn him about the tripwire, alarm bells rang throughout the building as the sound of a blaster firing into #3’s face echoed through the room.

He heard footsteps and readied himself in front of the door, in front of the child, ready to fire at the next lifeform.

“What the fuck happened?!” It was Renfri, but Geralt couldn’t make himself relax.

“Your friend was too busy thinking of money when he should have been paying attention to his surroundings.” Geralt pointed to the lifeless corpse for good measure.

“Poor bastard.” Goon #2 dropped his head, the other followed suit.

“Right…is that it?” Renfri locked onto the child and Geralt wished he could deny it and leave the kid alone in the room. She would have a better chance on a foreign planet then with the Nilfgaard.

He just nodded.

“C’mon kid, we’re getting you out of here.” Renfri held out a hand for her to take, but she wasn’t budging.

Geralt doesn’t know what possessed him to think he had a better shot, but he held out his hand. The kid looked at him, and slowly made her way out of the corner, her cloak and dress were dirty and tattered like she had run through thousands of forests.

She reminded Geralt of himself, being left alone on Kaer Morhen, wandering through the dense forests and rivers to arrive at the keep, his mother…

_“Focus, youngling.”_

The child grabbed his gloved hand, and Geralt wondered what it would feel like to trade her off for new armor.

The thought was cut short by the sounds of approaching footsteps, they were backed into a corner, the only way forward was to fight.

Geralt looked down to the child, “Stay behind me.”

She just looked up and silently moved behind Geralt, clutching onto his scarf like a lifeline.

“Renfri,” goon #1, “what’s the plan?”

Renfri just stared straight ahead, “We fight.”

As soon as she got the last word out the door was blown away and the pirates started shooting at them, Geralt rushed the child behind a cargo box and began returning fire.

There seemed to be no end to them, they kept piling on top of one another, and as Geralt looked around the room, Renfri was the only one of her crew left standing.

The look in her eyes went from determined to _feral_ as she grabbed the bo staff hooked on to her belt. If she was going to kill herself Geralt might as well cover her.

He turned to the child, “Stay here, don’t move.”

She clutched onto his arm, Geralt had no idea what to do except,

“I promise I’ll come back.”

She let go and Geralt grabbed the swords from his back, joining the fray.

Renfri had made good work of most of them, Geralt focused on the stragglers and pirates who could get a clean shot on her.

The fight found itself outside of the room in the hallway, and it felt like it was going to last a lifetime. Until Renfri finished snapping the last pirate’s neck and turned back to Geralt, staff gripped tightly in her hand and sweat matted to her face.

“Now that that’s over,” She dropped into a low stance, “let’s start.”

“Renfri, you don’t have to do this.” Geralt really didn’t want to do this, even though they hadn’t spent much time together, he didn’t want to kill the woman. She looked like she wasn’t going to give him much choice in the matter.

“I’m getting my money, Witcher.” And with that, she charged him with her staff raised high.

It came down hard as Geralt blocked with his swords, he felt her arms shake as she pressed down.

He pushed her back and began swiping at her experimentally with his swords, her movements were sluggish, and he could see blood trickling down her forehead.

Renfri was tired and running out of energy fast. Geralt had barely fought, and he knew an unbalanced fight when he saw one. The master Witchers had taught him and his siblings when to let their spar partner yield, how to make the fight one of honor and brotherhood amongst the bloodshed.

Geralt may have been a Witcher, trained to breathe the creed, but he was also a bounty hunter.

So he got in close, pulled his fist back, and cracked Renfri across the face. She was out before she even hit the floor. Geralt had enough sense to wince as she fell to the floor.

When he turned around the child was right behind him, looking at the bodies splayed across the hall.

It seems that no child was safe from the horrors of this galaxy.

“I thought I told you to stay put.” She just looked up to him and he sighed as he held his hand out for her.

They had made it a few steps from the building before Geralt heard footsteps behind them. He grabbed his blaster from his belt and fired at the perpetrator, who dodged out of the way,

It was Renfri in all her glory, matted hair and bloody teeth and wild eyes.

“You’re not getting away that easy, Witcher.” She ended her sentence with a spit of blood between them.

Geralt knew she wasn’t going to let them leave peacefully, one of them wouldn’t be coming back alive.

He grabbed at the child behind him and whispered to her, “When I say go, run as fast you can.”

The child clutched tighter to him, and Renfri began her charge once again.

Geralt breathed in,

_“Your siblings were weak, youngling, only the strong survive.”_

And breathed out.

Renfri was a foot away when Geralt charged forward to meet her, “GO!”

“NO!” Renfri swung her staff at Geralt’s neck and he collapsed to the ground on his back.

His world was in a daze and he could barely gasp for air,

_“Get up boy.”_

The voices of his trainers egged him on, Geralt could feel their words burning into his skin, their training etched into his bones.

Still winded he flipped onto his stomach and watched as the child ran to Roach, with Renfri right behind her. Geralt knew this day was shit from the moment he woke up.

He pulled out his blaster, took aim, and fired.

Renfri fell with a scream, and Geralt finally rose off the ground.

As he walked past her, she gripped his ankle, Geralt could smell the fresh scent of burned skin, it reminded him of Kaer Morhen,

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Usually, when someone said those words with a bit more thankfulness, Renfri however, looked _enraged_.

Geralt just shook off her hand, perhaps he would be angry too if someone had stolen his bounty from under him and then shot him in the leg, “I still can if you want.”

It wasn’t a question, Geralt only sparred with her because of the child, no other reason. Now that she was safe on the ship, nothing was stopping him from finishing the job.

Renfri looks at him, “Fine, go. But I’ll hunt you down Witcher, don’t think I won’t.”

When Geralt made it onto the ship he had almost forgotten the child, _the asset_. Except it was hard to ignore her striking blond hair and blue eyes that observed him from the copilot chair.

He felt a sense of…well he wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew that it did not spell good news.

Geralt sat in the pilot chair and punched in the coordinates for Stregobor’s residence. Glancing back at the child, she looked so small and helpless, and Geralt was the one who was taking her to gods knows what.

He put Roach in time hyperdrive and sighed,

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a post on tumblr that said geralt was mando except he could say the fuck word so I thought that was funny 
> 
> I also almost started writing another fic in the middle of this and I had to stop and make myself finish the chapter
> 
> this fic is also gonna be pretty long I think? maybe not idk I have the bones of it figured out but I still need to flesh it out
> 
> thank u to everyone who left kudos on the previous chapter <3 it really means so much to me even though there wasn't much there, I promise jaskier is on his way he's just a little lost


	3. The Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope grammarly didn't fuck up this chapter too much

Not much else was muttered on the ride back to Stregobor’s planet. Not that Geralt minded he spent years traveling alone, the quiet was like an old friend to him. The only problem was the staring.

Geralt didn’t need to turn around to feel her eyes boring into his helmet. He’s thankful for the it. Without it, Geralt’s afraid there would be two holes in his head.

He spares a glance back at the kid, she just leans her head to the side. It’s the most interaction that they’ve had since Blaviken.

Geralt turns back, he can’t really bear to look at the kid any more than he has to.

Not that he feels guilty about anything. At all.

After he touches down, Geralt gets up without sparring her much of a glance, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Except he’s halfway down to the gangway, and he doesn’t hear her footsteps following him. Geralt sighs, _why did I take this job._

He walks all the way back to the cockpit, all the while being watched by her intently.

“C’mon,” Geralt holds out a hand, “let’s go, kid.”

She grabs onto his arm, her hands wrap around his bracer. They’re so small, and the feeling of guilt in his stomach grows larger.

They walk out onto the gangway, the same engineers watching them intently. Sighting a Witcher was already a small probability in the vast galaxy. It must be doubly a strange sight for them to see a Witcher with a child.

As they make their way down to the sand, he notices the child’s trepidation, and she makes the first sound he’s ever heard from her. It’s a yelp, mixed with a hiss, as her bare feet touch the sand. Geralt doesn’t know how he didn’t notice her lack of footwear before, but between Renfri and the pirates, he thinks he’s allowed a little slack.

Geralt sighs, looking over to the two engineers, pretending not to look at him (and failing), and back to the kid. Who was currently testing the sands with her toes like it was a cold river, hissing as it burned her every time.

He lets go of her hand, which immediately catches her attention, looking back up at him with huge eyes. Ignoring them, he places his hands under her armpits, lifting her like it was nothing. As she got closer to his height, Geralt noticed how young she was and how dirty her face was.

She was barely a child, perhaps near the same age he was when he arrived (was abandoned) at Kaer Morhen.

Her face is caked in mud, and her cape and dress are barely rags. Geralt doesn’t know how long she was living with the pirates. For her sake, he hopes it wasn’t too long.

“Is this alright?” She’s free to walk on the burning sand, baked under the two suns, but holding her would make the trip back to Stregobor a bit faster.

She looks out at the sand and then nods. Geralt feels a small smile creep onto his face if only his brothers could see him now, holding a kid.

He wonders what they would think when they found out he traded her for new armor. _Would they have done the same?_

Geralt tucks her into his side and begins the trek, _this is the way._

People watch them, and he’s used to it. The kid adds some more confusion than usual, but Geralt doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

When they arrive at Stregobor’s hideout, he’s greeted with the familiar barrel of a blaster,

“I have the asset.” Because that’s all this is, it’s not a child. It’s a transaction. This is a job.

The blaster lowers, and the soldier’s face contorts into something akin to both total shock and extreme excitement. It makes Geralt sick, and her hands wrap around his neck a bit tighter. 

He scans the room and sees Stregobor sitting on the same couch as if he hadn’t moved from when Geralt left,

“Witcher! Come, sit, let’s talk business.”

Geralt makes his way over, the child’s arms tighten, and he feels as if he’s going to choke. He knows he has to put her down eventually, but…

“Oh, you can put her down,” Stregobor makes a sweeping gesture, “my men will take care of her.”

So Geralt does. He peels her from his side, and she refuses to budge, making the process longer than it should be. Finally, he places her back on the ground, and the Nilfgaard troopers come in to escort her away. His eyes follow as she’s led into an adjoining room.

“What are you going to do with her?” He doesn’t know what possesses him to ask. This is a job. He is a bounty hunter. Bounty hunters don’t ask questions. As soon as he gets his payment, he’s never going to think of this again.

Stregobor looks almost genuinely surprised, “My friend, that’s the least of your worries. Now sit, while my men bring your payment.”

Geralt stays standing. It’s the only thing he has control over.

Stregobor just laughs and waves over another trooper who carries in the same case, placing it on the same table between them. He looks down on the box, wondering if the contents are really worth the life of a child.

“As you can see,” Stregobor opens the lid, “it’s all here.”

Geralt closes the lid and grabs the crate, “The kid…”

Stregobor’s face tightens, “Witcher, I think it’s best you leave with your payment.”

The soldiers tighten around him as Stregobor speaks, as if his words are laced with poison, they might as well be. Geralt doesn’t need a second warning. He knows when he’s outmatched, so he walks out of the hideout.

He doesn’t stop walking, not until he makes it back to his pilot chair. Even then, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop to think about the small child with her big eyes and wild hair. Because if he did, he might not be able to leave this planet.

Geralt steals a look at the copilot chair, half expecting her to be there. Of course, she isn’t. He traded her for armor.

He sighs and sets his course for Kaer Morhen. It’s time to visit his master.

There’s barely any room to land on the snow-filled planet, with its dense, overgrown forests. The Witchers settled here for a reason, but that didn’t make landing any easier. Roach creaks as it lands lopsided, landing gear struggling to find purchase on the snow.

Geralt hated the walk from the landing station to the keep. It was always far enough away that it was the perfect time to think, and he hated thinking, reminiscing. It just made his emotions more prevalent.

_“You’re feelings are a weakness, boy. Push them down, focus on the target in front of you.”_

_“This is the way.”_

Vessimir is outside, forever patching the crumbling walls of the keep. Geralt begins to call out for him when his foot steps on a fallen branch. The older man whips around, firing a shot off over Geralt’s left shoulder.

It was a warning shot. Geralt should know, he’s been on the receiving end of those on numerous occasions.

“How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me,” Vessimir sounds cross, but the laughter underneath his words betrays the seriousness of it all. They grasp forearms, Geralt shifting the weight of the crate to his free hand.

Vessimir looks down at it, and Geralt wishes he could see beyond his helmet as the child seemed to, _i_ s _he proud?_

“Let’s go fire up the forge then.”

Geralt follows the older man through the keep down to the forge, keeping his eyes forward. Always trained on the back of his helmet.

Ghosts weren’t real, but this place was haunted. Anyone who walked these halls could hear the screams of children, long since dead. If Geralt focused, he could hear their cries in the howling winds, wondering why their parents had left them to such a horrid fate.

He could still hear their sniffles in the dead of the night when they thought everyone was asleep. No one ever was. They were too busy crying themselves.

So he keeps his eyes forward. It doesn’t stop the feeling of being watched. Geralt can feel their eyes peering around the doors, wondering why he survived while they all died.

Vessimir leads him into the forge room. The last time Geralt had been there was the day after he passed his final trial. His fingers were still frostbitten as he placed the helmet on his head, vowing never to take it off or have it taken off by someone else. He can still the clatter of his teeth, warmed by the beskar heated into his first and only piece of armor,

_“A rite of passage, you have prospered where others have failed.”_

The piece of armor was gifted to them for rising above. Completing the trials that had been in place long before even the oldest of masters that had graced Kaer Morhen. It told all that stood against them that he was a survivor. He would do _anything_ to live. Even climb on top of the rotting corpses of his siblings.

Vessimir held out his hands for the crate, and Geralt handed it over, kneeling as the man began to work.

The beskar was beautiful, flowing into the crevices of the mold. Geralt wondered if he poured it down his throat, it would fill in the empty parts of his body.

After the armor finished cooling, Vessimir left the room to let Geralt change his armor. Even without the other pair of eyes, Geralt still saved his helmet for last. His old armor fell away, like the shed skin of a Rancor.

Even though he had grown into this armor, he felt no attachment to it, as all Witchers did. It was just another thing. There was no point in feeling anything about the armor (about everything).

As he removed his old helmet, he closed his eyes, not risking a look at his reflection. He remembers what he looked like, his silver hair and yellow eyes, and he could feel the stubble on his jaw as his glove grazed by his face. His hair also felt much longer, but they were all just physical attributes. Geralt’s helmet was his face. Taking it off felt like removing a piece of skin.

He slipped the new helmet on and opened his eyes. Even though it had been less than a minute without it on, it felt wrong without it.

Vessimir waited for him outside the room, clapping him on the soldier as he walked past, “Let’s talk.”

They made their way back through the keep to the library. Geralt remembered it fondly. While most of his siblings spent what little spare time they had between training playing, he spent them locked away in the library.

He felt safe within the four walls and would always sit by the large windows overlooking the keep. Holding his breath to see if his mother was coming back for him.

Of course, she never did, and Geralt wasn’t even sure she was alive anymore, but that never stopped him from watching the ships come and go. Hoping that one of them was for him.

Back in the present, Vessimir led them over to two chairs, the only things in the library that hadn’t gathered dust from years of abandonment.

Vessimir looked at Geralt, and that’s all it took before he began to tell the older man everything. From Stregobor to the pirates to Renfri to the child to the guilt, he felt leaving her.

As he finished, Geralt felt like a child about to be scolded. Vessimir turned away from him, and Geralt took the time to glance at the man’s armor. It had always been worn down. Before he trained the children, he was one of the most active bounty hunters.

At least that’s what he had told them.

Though the markings littered his armor, scratches and stains from old contracts long before Geralt was even born.

“Why do you care about the fate of this child?” It felt as though Geralt was being tested. He just didn’t know what the answer was.

“She reminds me of myself.” His voice barely came out louder than a whisper, drowned in the river of screams and cries that howled outside the keep.

Vessimir turned back to him, “What are you going to do then?”

“Master…”

“Your path is your own child.”

Geralt needed no permission from anyone, but this was his master, the man he looked up to, who he still looked up to.

He didn’t spare it a second thought, racing out of the keep, promising to come back to his siblings soon.

By the time he made it back to Stregobor’s planet, the two suns had already set. The town was eerily quiet as he made his way through, no nosy engineers or townsfolk to bother him as he made his way back to the hideout. He could almost track his own footprints in the sand. Hopefully, this was the last trip to the planet he would ever make.

No guards were posted outside, probably since the Nilfgaard didn’t want to alert the planet to who they were currently housing.

Geralt pulled one of his blades from his back as he opened the front door and was faced with the white armor of a Nilfgaard trooper. Who was seemingly sleeping on his feet, as he barely made a sound as Geralt stuck his sword through his throat.

Stregobor was surprisingly not on the couch. In fact, no one was in the room save for the now-dead trooper. He almost cursed himself for not being fast enough, for letting this happen in the first place, but he remembered the room off to the right where the child had been taken.

Quickly he crouched his way over to the other door, hiding in the dark. He listened through the thing walls,

“Bring the asset to NTS-734. You’ll be paid then.” Geralt didn’t recognize the voice. It was probably a projection from the sound of the distortion.

“Thank you, moff Cahir.” Geralt could practically see his long sweeping bow and almost rolled his eyes.

It seemed that the call ended as soldiers exited the room. Geralt pressed himself against the wall. Whatever controlled the fates of the galaxy seemed to be in good spirits that day, as they all exited without so much of a glance in his direction.

Geralt slipped into the room, watching as they all made their way into various rooms of the hideout, perhaps to rest before they left for whatever NTS-734 was.

He felt his heart drop as he looked around the room and found no sign of the child, just another large room with nothing but a table and some chairs.

He stalked his way over to Stregobor and placed the blaster on the base of his skull. The other man just laughed and turned around unphased,

“The armor looks good on you, Witcher.”

“I’m taking the kid.”

Stregobor just sighed and shook his head, clicking his tongue like he was dealing with an unruly child, “You have no idea what you're messing with here.” The man began to move his hand, but Geralt was faster. The blade still in hand, he swung at the man’s arm, relieving him of his limb.

Stregobor yelled out in pain, and Geralt knew he only had a few minutes to find the child and get out of there,

“Where is she?” He grabbed the man’s arm and squeezed. Stregobor let out another yelp.

Stregobor hissed, “You know, I thought Witchers didn’t have feelings.” Geralt squeezed again and pushed the man into the wall behind him. Hopefully, knocking him out for a few seconds.

He sparred a look around the room again, and his eyes landed on another door. Hopefully leading to another room where the child was being kept.

Except it was more of a closet than a room, barely enough to fit a few boxes. As soon as he moved a stack of them out of the way, he saw the kid. She was curled up in the corner, probably having been there since Geralt had left,

“Hey, kid.” She looked up at him, she was a child, but her eyes were filled with the betrayal and hurt of an adult.

Geralt didn’t know what to do. He knew if he said the words “Sorry for leaving you with the Nilfgaard,” it wouldn’t have much impact. So he crouched down to her level, held out his hand, and filled his head with as many apologies as possibly could.

It took a few minutes, but she seemed content with whatever she saw on his helmet (or through it) and took his hand.

As he stood up from the crouch, he saw the room was now filled to the brim with troopers, Geralt knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but it had seemed to be going in his favor for a bit there.

“You still have time to walk away from this Witcher.” Stregobor hid behind the wall of soldiers and held his hand against his chest, blood pouring out in a steady stream out of his stump.

Geralt ignored him and turned slightly to the kid who gripped onto his scarf, “Stay behind me.”

He dived over to the table, kicking it over to use as a makeshift barricade.

If the Nilfgaard were known for anything, it was their terrible aim, so Geralt had no problem picking them off one by one with his blaster. After some time, only a few left, he didn’t have time to celebrate. He was running out of rounds.

He grabbed his blades off his back and turned to the kid, wide-eyed and distressed from all of the action happening around her. No one was safe from the horrors of this galaxy, it seemed,

“Stay here, okay?” She clutched onto him as the troopers continued firing. He peeled off her hand, promising to return, and jumped out into the fray.

Though ashamed of how he obtained it, Geralt was quietly singing the praises of his new armor. Blaster rounds bounced off of him like they were nothing. It made slicing through them easier when they realized they had no chance against him.

Finally, there was no one left in the room except him, the child, and Stregobor, slowly bleeding out.

As Geralt moved to finish the man off, he felt his body still, and he could feel his siblings laugh at him for his rash behavior,

_“Think before you swing, child. Your enemies are always waiting for you to slip up.”_

He watched as Stregobor’s hand slowly moved into a fist-shape, unable to do anything except attempt to gasp for breath as his lungs began to seize and his body was lifted off of the ground.

For the first time in his life, Geralt was helpless, _is this how I die?_

He hoped the child would take the opportunity to run into the valley or the town, perhaps hideout until a cruiser came by and she could sneak onto it. He felt the black begin to creep into his vision and his heart begin to slow.

The only thing that tied him to this plane was the sound of her feet moving. Perhaps she heard him. Except he saw her from the corner of his vision, he wanted to scream at her to run, but his throat was busy being slowly crushed.

Then she made the second noise he ever heard, a shrill scream that sounded too large to be coming from such a small thing. But he didn’t have much time to think as he was dropped back onto the ground, clamoring to get as much air into his lungs as possible.

When he finally looked up, Stregobor was across the room, contorted in such a way that Geralt was sure the man wouldn’t be waking up for some time. He looked over to the side where the child stood beside him, except now she was crumpled on the floor.

Geralt only let himself relax when he saw the rise and fall of her chest.

He scooped her up and walked back to Roach. Placing her gingerly on his bed, careful not to disturb her too much as he placed a blanket on her small body.

Vessimir waited for him at the front steps. The older man eyed the bundle in his arms and moved aside to let him in,

“Was wondering when you would get back.”

Geralt grunted, “Sorry to make you wait.”

They made their way over to one of the lounges that Vessimir still used. None of the children were allowed in while he was growing up, the one place the masters had to themselves. Vessimir probably kept it clean for old time’s sake.

Geralt laid the child down on one of the couches and made his way over to the table where the older man sat.

“Master she…she’s one of them.”

_“Never forget who your enemies are.”_

Vessimir just hummed, “I wondered why the Nilfgaard went to such lengths to hire a Witcher for a simple child.”

Geralt just sat there, wondering when Vessimir would order him to execute her.

“This place is old, Geralt,” The use of his name sent a jolt through him. He can’t remember the last time it left anyone’s lips, “perhaps it’s time to let the walls finally crumble.”

“Master?” To say Geralt was confused was an understatement.

Vessimir just sighed, “This child is a force-user, correct?”

Geralt just nodded.

“She needs to be with her kind, someone who can teach her to control the chaos that threatens to consume her.”

As if she knew she was being discussed, the kid woke up and quickly made her way over to Geralt’s side,

“Well, hello there, little one.” She hid behind Geralt, and he let out a small laugh. Vessimir was the one who children would usually go to, not him.

He placed his hand on her head, “He’s alright. This is my master.”

She looked between the two, noting the similarity in armor, and began to peer at Vessimir. Reading something beyond the two men's comprehension, whatever she found was fine to her as she began to relax.

“It’s time for you two to begin your journey.” Vessimir stood, and Geralt followed, the child in tow. His siblings peeking out at the stranger in their halls.

When they made it to the keep's front, the kid began to test the snow beneath her bare feet. Geralt remembers the feeling, the burning sensation of the cold was almost more unbearable than that of hot sand.

Vessimir clasped a hand on his shoulder, “Before you go,” His hands moved behind his neck, unclasping a necklace hidden beneath his armor.

As he handed it to Geralt, Geralt tried to push his hands away, “Master, I can’t –”

Vessimir just grabbed his hands, placing the medallion in his gloved palms, “Be safe, son.”

He had only seen it a few times, sometimes when they sparred, it slipped out. Geralt never asked. But he recognized the face of the snarling wolf,

Geralt knew there was no use in protesting further. He slipped the necklace over his neck and tucked the medallion underneath his chest piece, “Thank you, master.”

The kid looked between the two men and raised her arms to Geralt. Vessimir laughed at the sight,

“If only your brothers could see you.”

Geralt smiled beneath his helmet and lifted the child. He refused to say goodbye. Even though everything had felt so final about this conversation, even though he knew he would never return to this place again, he held on to the hope this was not the last time he would meet with Vessimir.

“This is the way.” It was a question.

“This is the way.” It was an answer.

Vessimir waved at the two until the snow swallowed him whole.

When they go into the cockpit, Geralt brought up the hologram map and finally realized how far out of his league he was. Sure, he had read about the Force, but he didn’t know the first thing about looking for a user.

He looked over his shoulder to the kid, “Where do you want to go?” Maybe she would have some clue.

She looked over the map, scrutinizing it as much as a small child could. Finally, she pointed at a small, tiny planet, giving Geralt the first wide, toothy grin he had seen from her.

“Really?”

She nodded feverishly, her hair flying up and down with her.

Geralt chuckled, more for her than himself,

“Alright, Posada, it is then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short break, i got a bit of writer's block during christmas and then word crashed when I was cutting and pasting this chapter last night and I got super upset because I was really proud of it :( 
> 
> but I got up today and worked on it, it's not super perfect so if u hate this chapter blame word not me. 
> 
> it made me realize I'm probably not the most qualified person to write this but I'm gonna try my best! also I mapped it out and I think this fic is gonna be about eleven chapters give or take? just a heads up 
> 
> also jaskier is in the next chapter I promise

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos/Criticisms always appreciated <3


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